Fixing What is Broken
by sangre antigua
Summary: Since that “fateful” day, the day Jack Mercer got his first taste of what it felt like to be shot, he had not been the same. BobbyxJack/slash. Jack getting shot, in Bobby’s eyes, was his fault more than anyone else’s.
1. Waiting

**Author: **sangre antigua/TR4G1C [old penname].

**Rating; Title; Pairing; **R; Fixing What Is Broken; BobbyxJack/Slash.

**Summary: **Since that "fateful" day, the day Jack Mercer got his first taste of what it felt like to be _shot_, he had not been the same. His speak was cryptic and hard to decode, a constant riddle for everyone around him—especially for Bobby. Jack getting shot, in Bobby's eyes, was his fault more than anyone else's. JackxBobby/Slash; R rating for later chapters.

**Warning/Disclaimer: **Still don't own Four Brothers (I wish I owned Garrett Hedlund and Mark Wahlberg, but _no_…). Depressing? Maybe a little, but, yeah. Set after Victor Sweet is gone; Jack doesn't die. (:

- - - - -

"Is he home _yet_?"

"Nah, man; he's not."

"Shit—where the fuck can he _be_? He's only…what…thirteen?"

"He's twenty two, Angel."

"He looks like a little kid, _Jer_."

"That's really besides the point. We really need to find him before Bobby finds out."

"Fuck. I'd hate to see Bobby's expression when he finds out that Jack's not home yet and it's…4:14 in the morning."

"Same here. Same here."

"He better walk his cracker ass through that door sometime soon before Bobby…"

"Well, if we keep quiet, Bobby won't wake up—_thus _he won't find out."

If Jeremiah and Angel thought they were being quiet, then they were fucking _stupid_. Honestly, they were fucking _retarded_ morons who needed fucking _brains_. If they thought that Bobby Mercer had passed out in front of the couch and _wasn't_ snoring, then they were suddenly off their rockers. _Particularly_ with Jack _still _out passed…_4:14 in the morning_.

Bobby had simply closed his eyes.

The light from the TV hurt them; the strain of them flickering back and forth, searching eagerly for a tall, lanky white male to walk into the room, hurt them; paranoia and its bitchiness from worrying, hurt them. Bobby couldn't stand it anymore. The constant sleeping late, the constant staying out passed two, the constant word drabble that sounded like a bad Edgar Allan-Poe poem—all of it made his head spin. He missed the Jack that came to the Mercer house when he was ten. He missed the Jack that learned how to skate slowly but surely with Bobby's help. He missed the Jack that cuddled with him during rainstorms. He missed the Jack who told him _everything_.

That Jack was gone, tucked away in a case file with three or four bullets stained with blood.  
Since being shot…Jack had…he'd become a shell of what he used to be.

"I'm tired."

"Angel, shut up."

"But I am…"

"You know we need to wait with Bobby. Especially if Jack comes home sometime soon and Bobby sleeps through it. We need to know when he comes home, so we can make up something saying that Jack came home _right _after Bobby crashed."

"Lying is a bad thing, Jer," Bobby's husky voice sounded. It scared Angel and Jeremiah so much that their dark-skinned hands fidgeted subconsciously and their once simple, toying smiles had been bent into shaky frowns. The younger of the three, Angel, even had his somewhat sharp cheekbones bared against the skin covering them. "Why would you lie to your big brother?"

Jeremiah shifted in his spot as Bobby sat up. He had been laying there (still awake, as noted) for some time, listening to everything going on but having his focus mainly consumed by his thoughts. Unable to come up with an answer, Jeremiah allowed his jaw to clamp shut before he shrugged his shoulders. He then slightly hung his head.

"Go to bed, Princesses," Bobby spoke, dropping the former subject and starting up another one. He looked at Angel and then craned his head for the stairs, which were in eye sight from the couch Bobby formerly had been sprawled out on.

"But, Bobby…I don't live here anymore," Jeremiah returned, voice barely above a whisper.

"Go, either way. Crash in your old room. Camille will understand," Bobby assured, nodding his head.

Jeremiah didn't look so sure, but he kept fairly still.

"I need to talk to Jack when he gets home, anyway. _Alone_." The last word was emphasized by Bobby's threatening, deep, booming voice. Jeremiah and Angel looked at the elder man before them and swayed a little in fright, like sapling trees to a great, forceful wind. They looked at each other, frowned a little more and began for the stairs, leaving Bobby to himself.

- - - - -

By the time that Jack returned it was almost five in the morning. Nerves and paranoia continued to consume Bobby's thoughts (and his mind as a whole) while he waited. Watching TV did not help—it just hurt his eyes—and trying to convince himself that Jack would be home shortly did not help, either, so he sat alone. He sat alone and watched himself from the doorway being devoured by his mind.

But then the knob of the front door wriggled and shook softly for a few seconds, snapping Bobby out of his thoughts. Either that was Jack, or some dumb ass who didn't know that this was the Mercer home. If it was some dumb shit who thought they could steal from the Mercers, Bobby wasn't going to open the door—if it was Jack, Bobby wasn't going to open the door. Jack had a key, or he should've—Jack also had a curfew.

As seconds dwindled, the knob continued to quiver. Evidentially Jack had not only forgotten his curfew, but he had seemingly forgotten his key as well.

_Serves him right, _Bobby told himself, but his heart stung softly as the words crept over his brain. He could hear frustrated mumbles coming from the other side of the door—and knowing that he was the reason, or part of it, behind that frustration made him hurt.

Plus, thinking ill of Jack just…didn't tide well.  
He loved Jack with all of his being, with all that he could.  
And quite honestly, for a brother to feel that strongly for another brother, that wasn't exactly politically correct.

Finally, and with a victorious grunt, the door slowly inched open. Following the large door was a lanky, pale-skinned man—but a boy compared to Bobby. A leather jacket hung from his arms and torso, worn from constant use, a set of combat boots shielded his feet and a pair of also well-worn dark blue jeans flowed down his legs ever so softly. With all of his attire, one might think he was a bad boy or a bad ass or anything else following those guidelines—but the face…he had the face of an _angel_.

Baby blue eyes that grew lighter when he cried rested snuggly in their sockets. Soft, gentle pink lips tugged into the form of a smile were it was forever stuck to his face. Subtle, velvety cheeks, strong and defined, showcased themselves against flesh for the entire world to see.

Because of his beautiful features, whenever Jack tried to act big and bad, tried to up his age and appear macho, Bobby would just crush his attempt with a remark about Jack's _soft, flawless skin, which any other girl would positively __**die**__ for_. It was just a joke, though it really ruffled Jack's feathers—but, in reality, Bobby would die for _Jack_. Bobby figured that Jack knew that, but he didn't really know. At least he didn't know to that **degree**. Bobby guessed that Jack didn't know because, well, lately, Jack had been nothing but a self destruct sequence or a ridiculously cryptic puzzle. Like one of those rubix cubes—which Bobby happened to absolutely despise.

Plus, Bobby Mercer wasn't one to display _that_ emotion all to well. Anger? Sure. Happiness? A grin would do it. Saddness? A stern frown filled the quota. Lust? Slight hounding fit the bill. But love? No; Bobby rarely showed _that_ type of love to anyone. Brotherly love, sure, but never the love he felt for Jack.

All in all, Jack was a very, very pretty, _confusing_ twenty-two year old, though Bobby thought of him as much younger and more of a self-destruct sequence than anything else. Jack would be his downfall, of this Bobby was sure.

But being taken down never felt so…p_leasant_, so _right.  
_It was wrong, though. It was so very wrong.  
It was wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

"Why is it that fairies always come late, or never show at all? I thought I had been a good little boy," Bobby croaked from the living room. Jack had just begun to climb the stairs, after hanging his leather coat up, but now he had been frozen to his spot, open-mouthed and wide-eyed—like a deer in headlights.

Still frozen to his spot, Jack couldn't muster the strength to speak. He turned his head a little to look to the living room that he had just passed, which he thought was empty judging by the silence hovering around it, and swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat now, _just_ too big to go down smoothly. Jack's chest felt on fire despite the fact that the rest of him was seemingly frozen.

"Speak Jack. Come on," Bobby huffed and rose from his spot. Leisurely he strolled to the staircase and leaned against the rail of it. "C'mon, you're so eager to do everything else in life. Fucking speak, Jack."

"I'm not a child, Bobby," Jack returned, knowing the gist of what this was about. Though his voice sounded tough, his jaw was wired almost completely shut, just like Jeremiah and Angel's had been, and showed just how nervous he really was. "I'm allowed to stay out late."

"Yeah, but it's nearly five in the morning, Jackie! That's not late, that's really, really, _really _fucking late," Bobby hissed. His words were like venom and when they hit Jack's chest, his airways constricted a little. "You look like hell, you reek of cigarettes and drugs and alcohol—what the fuck have you been doing, Jack?" After a few seconds of a painful silence, Bobby growled unhappily. "Fucking answer me, Jack."

"I've been doing things that adults are allowed to do," Jack barked proudly, holding his head high.

Eagerly, Bobby burst that confidence. "You look like a thirteen-year-old middle-school homecoming queen in a bad dark-colored get up." The words hit Jack hard and his cheeks constricted even more.

_Little fucker's gonna strain a muscle if they get any tighter,_ Bobby thought bitterly.

"And, last time I checked, drugs weren't legal, _Jack_," Bobby added, words leaving with a voluble snort. "What's it been this time? X? Coke? Crack? Speed? Heroin? Acid? Meth? OxyContin? Valium? Codeine? Vicodin? A mix of a few—a mix of them all? C'mon, ya' little fairy, _enlighten me_."

Jack was somewhat surprised that Bobby could name all of those drugs off the top of his head—and at the same time somewhat suspicious about that. But there was a darker, more important situation at hand. "It's none of your fucking _business_, Bobby. Just leave me alone. Matter of fact, why don't you just leave? You're great at that," he countered softly, slurring his words and swaying a bit.

Bobby hissed at the words as he leant a hand to keep the other steady. He wished he could find it in him to just let the other fall onto the floor, but he just…couldn't. So he substituted that motion with a firm, hard grip on Jack's back, not to mention the harsh clapping sound that echoed when Bobby 'caught' the other. "It is my business—you are my business, Jack! With Ma' gone…" Bobby paused, sighing loudly.

_Oh God, the Mom card…_Jack thought, dreading the words that would follow.

"I have to be the one looking after all of you guys. I'm pulling rank, Jackie—_fall the fuck in line_."

With a painful silence in the air once more, Jack and Bobby bore their eyes into one another until it was too painful to take, their chests about ready to burst and their faces nearly blue, as they had been holding their breath. Finally, Jack broke the staring contest and glanced up the stairs before going up them.

"Oh, get the _fuck _back here, ya' little fairy. I'm not done with you," Bobby hissed, and followed after him. He made sure that the heavy shoes on his feet made a lot of racket, Bobby did. Angel and Jeremiah weren't asleep (most likely…) and if they were, they would most likely just stay in their rooms, knowing it was best for them to stay out of it. But on the slim chance that they came to investigate, Bobby deemed an audience not such a bad thing.

And with that, he continued storming up the stairs behind Jack.


	2. Breaking

"Bobby, go the fuck away!" Jack mumbled. He slammed the door and allowed himself to collapse on his bed, only for Bobby to force the door open and make his presence known with each threatening stomp of his feet. "I'm tired. Now fuck off, okay?"

"I bet you are fucking tired, ya' little fairy," Bobby returned quickly. The constant use of "little fairy" was really getting to Jack, and Bobby could see it perfectly in the form of blue flames, dancing lively in Jack's eyes. "Just tell me what you're on. What magical combination is it tonight? If you tell me now, I'll lessen your ass-kicking by a fragment of a degree."

Jack sat up quickly, rising to his feet, obviously agitated and rather afraid. Did Bobby just threaten him? Jack stifled a shudder and snarled softly; on any other given day, Bobby would've laughed at the facial gesture, but now wasn't the time. Jack was genuinely upset, but, even though he towered over Bobby by a few inches, his hard expression could not match that of the elder male before him. Bobby was not only pissed, but he was worried and scared, all wrapped up into one. One of those emotions was hard enough to manage for Bobby Mercer.

"What makes you fucking think I'm on anything?" Jack hissed, arms flying crossed clumsily. For a second there, Bobby thought Jack was going to strike him.

_Good move that he didn't,_ Bobby thought impatiently.

"You slurred, damn near fell on your ass on the stairs—I know you're a clumsy bitch, _princess_, but you're not normally that clumsy—and your pupils are dilated." All of this arguing was really taking its toll on Bobby's heart and mind, making his head spin even faster than before and making his heart throb sadly. "Stop lyin' and just _tell me_ what you're on, now. Stop wastin' my time. Y'know, you're lucky I love you, otherwise I'd 'of called the cops by now."

That was a bull-faced lie—at least the second half of it was.

At being called a "bitch", Jack's eyes lost a bit of their high-and-mighty, I'm-pissed-off appearance and grew softer. Not being the best at arguing or keeping a straight face (angry, sad or happy), Jack was known to crumble quite easily. All of the insults quickly produced by his brother were mounting on top of one another, like levels of water. The water was nearing his neck at the moment.

"Bobby, stop…fuck…stop yelling…" he grunted, clenching his jaw again, somewhat ashamed of how his eyes twinkled with unshed tears, wanting to fall down his face and join the body of water all around him. Not to mention the fact that he lost—again.

"I'd stop yellin' if you'd just answer my fucking question, Jack," Bobby said. Slowly but surely Bobby got himself to lower his voice, to suck down his anger, as it was all starting to get to Jack. For a moment there Bobby had forgotten how ease it was to…break Jack—more so now, because Jack had been broken before. Broken by several fast moving bullets. Bobby shuddered. He didn't want to break him anymore; he wanted to help him, to mend him. "C'mon, what're you on? _Please _tell me," Bobby spoke and let out a long, low breath. "I just want to know in case something happens."

Jack continued to clench his jaw until his face hurt like a mother; he also fought back tears until it was virtually impossible. With his breaking point drawing nearer and nearer and the water level around him rising, Jack sat down on the bed, unfolded his arms, and used them to prop up his head.

"Don't…don't cry, Jackie," Bobby huffed, biting his lip.

_Fucking great. Now he's crying. Way to go, Bobby._

Needless to say, stopping someone who was crying wasn't Bobby's element—it was actually a really weakening thing, crying. Especially from Jack, for it made him melt, it made all of his previous worries just…float away and be replaced solely by worries of Jack's overall well-being.

Bobby swayed a little bit, munching on his lip until he found the guts to speak again. "Just tell me, please. I need to make sure everyone's okay. Just please, tell me." Bobby knelt down in front of Jack and rubbed at the sides of his knees. Jack choked on a sob before shaking his head, his breath ragged in his throat. "Please, Jackie. It's okay…I didn't mean to—please, just tell me."

"It hurts…" Jack whispered, his words surrounded by the pain in his voice.

"What hurts, Jackie? What hurts?" Bobby questioned, still rubbing circles on Jack's legs, but allowing them to go down almost to his ankle and then back up to his knees.

"_They _hurt." Jack removed his hands from his face and crossed his arms again. He rocked forward a little and sobbed again. "They ache like crazy…"

_He said that they didn't hurt when he ran out of pills. The surgery closed them up nicely, and it's been almost two months since that day. But, now of all times, they ache a lot? Jackie, sweetheart…you lied when they said they didn't hurt anymore? Jackie…_

Bobby sighed loudly and scampered from his post on the floor. He sat down next to Jack and slowly wrapped his left arm around the other's waist, drawing him near. Soft blond hair tickled at the underside of Bobby's chin as Jack rested his head on the other's shoulder, choking loudly on a sob. Bobby granted the other a few moments to cry, to get everything out, before he continued his interrogation—but this time around he made sure he was much gentler about going after the answer.

"Please, tell me what you've taken today. C'mon, Jack, you can tell Bobby…"

"But you're gonna be angry! You said…!"

"I was angry, Jackie. I was; I was. I'm calm now. I just want to make sure you're alright. I love you, Jackie. I just want you okay," Bobby assured him quickly. He pulled the other tighter into his body and kissed the top of his head. It felt…right to be holding Jack—but now wasn't the time. It was only time for Jack to tell Bobby what was coursing through his bloodstream. Bobby didn't have the slightest clue as to what he was on. There could haven been so much tainting his baby brother…his beautiful baby brother. Jack had been gone since noon (he said he was coming back, but he didn't, though he called at six to apologize for that); he could've been on anything then and could've been on anything at the current moment, though he was resting safely in Bobby's arms.

With a quiet howl Jack let his left arm fall limply before Bobby and himself. Bobby rose a brow at the motion, a sort of this-does-me-good-how kind of look—before he noticed several little red dots on the flesh around the top of his elbow, most of the dots bruising the boy in his arms. "Jackie…" Bobby whispered.

Jack pulled his arm back and howled again, this time a bit louder. Needle marks—from heroin. A few of them, three max., were still red and inflamed, but healing over; the others, two or three more as well, were just bruised or already healed, now there for the rest of his life, branding his skin.

"Jackie…" Bobby repeated, eyes closed, trying to find the strength to continue speaking. "Is…is that all?"

Jack reluctantly shook his head again to Bobby. This was breaking Bobby's heart. Earlier he intended on teaching Jack a lesson for all of his wrong doings of the day, but Jack had beaten him to the punch. Bobby hadn't meant for Jack to break down like this; it was probably a mixture of stress and the drugs that made his strong attitude crumble so easily.

"What else, Jackie? You gotta tell Bobby," insisted the elder.

Jack whined before sitting up, hanging his head in shame. "V…Vicodin…and s-some other pain killers…Bobby…I'm s-sorry…I'm so fucking…stupid…" he whimpered.

"When? When you have those things?" If Jack had mixed them all at once, Bobby didn't know what he would do. Sending his baby brother to rehab wouldn't do, nor would teaching him a lesson (or, now it wouldn't work). Bobby could always beat the shit out of each and every person that Jack had been around prior to coming home—but something to Bobby that tracking down everyone in the messy, bustling city of Detroit, Michigan would be hard.

"Pills were…at two and five…" Jack choked out. "H-Her—Heroin at eight and nine…"

_Oh my God—that's a…that's a fucking lot of drugs for one day, _Bobby thought, trying to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

"Jack…"

"Alcohol here and there…" he rambled on. Finally he looked up, his eyes startlingly blue, catching Bobby off guard. "I-I…it takes away the p-pain…" he whispered, looking at his now trembling arms.

Bobby held him close again, shaking his head back and forth as he rubbed his arm up and down Jack's quivering shoulder. Did Jack know how easily it would've been for Jack to have O.D.'d? Did he know how easily he could've been taken advantaged of? _Killed _even? Did he know the risk of getting uncountable STDs from that heroin needle?

_Fucking hell—heroin needles!_

"Jackie, Jackie, Jackie!" Bobby cried, easing Jack out of his arms slowly. Jack lowered his head and Bobby did too, but Bobby was doing it so that he could maintain eye contact. "Who did you share needles with?" Jack caught onto what Bobby was meaning and sat up, shaking his head now.

"N-No one!" he replied, his pained face heart breaking. "I…made sure…they were…new." Every two words or so, he paused to sob, which just made the anger that used to dominate Bobby's face completely fade into the central nerve station in his head. A few simple tugs from Bobby and Jack was nestled in the elder again, both having their arms slewed around each other. "I'm sorry, Bobby…"

"You should've _told _me, Jackie," was all Bobby could say. They started to rock slowly in unison, clinging to one another for dear life.

- - - - -

"Jack…c'mon, it's almost five forty five. You need sleep," Bobby whispered, breaking the silence that had hovered around them for the forty or so minutes. He shifted his body, having aches in his back from behind hunched forward without moving for so long, and made Jack move a little as well. The other didn't want to, so he stayed against Bobby, clinging to him like a second skin. "Jackie. C'mon—you gotta get in bed."

Reluctantly, Jack pulled himself off of Bobby, dried his blotchy face and began undressing. After a few good seconds Jack was in nothing but his boxers and an undershirt, shivering gently, looking ever so pitiful.

Bobby sucked down an "awe". "C'mon. Lay down." Bobby stood up, groaned at the pleasant feeling of having his joints move, and pulled down the sheets of Jack's bed. He watched the younger male climb into the bed and get situated before he leaned forward, pecking him on the forehead. Then he began off.

"Bobby!" Jack spoke loudly, making Bobby turn to face him. "Stay…?"

Tired himself, Bobby thought about it momentarily and then nodded. He removed his shoes and his clothes like Jack had, stopping when only a white undershirt and his boxers were visible. He then climbed into Jack's bed and watched the other snuggle into him with a dry sob, his arms automatically wrapping around Jack. Eyelids closed down over each other as each of them said, "I love you."


End file.
